Paradigm Shift
by SSJ-Alhazred
Summary: Crossover fun, pre-'R-D.' An android more human-looking than Dorothy finds himself wandering the streets of Paradigm City, while Roger tries to figure out what Schwarzwald is up to...
1. Paradise City

****

Paradigm Shift

Alhazred - madarab20@hotmail.com - 

The Big O and Kikaider are © to their respective owners; profit is not made by this work.

Act 1: Paradise City

Trinity and Beyond.

Requiem for...something. Who could remember? Literally? Requiem for something or other being played on the piano, maybe someone or something or some place lost to catastrophe or...

Consciousness. Realization. And yelling. **_"R. Dorothy Wayneright!"_**

Struggling to make his bloodshot eyes actually _blink,_ Roger Smith resolved to strangle Dorothy with his bare hands.

He resolved to forget his resolve when he remembered that Dorothy would proceed to smash him like a twig if he tried.

So instead, Roger settled for heaving himself out of bed, shrugging on his bathrobe, and plodding out into the living room. Perhaps it was time to buy a smaller house. Sure, he could afford something _larger_ than what he had now, but the larger the rooms, the better the acoustics for Dorothy's morning torture sessions. "Dorothy, do you have an alarm clock program or something? Can I delete it if you do?"

Her head rotating on her very servo-like neck, Dorothy did not stop playing as she answered. "I contain no such program for you to delete, Roger Smith. Also, you are dressed inappropriately for your appointment."

"But I don't have any," Roger started to say. He turned to head for the shower, meaning to get out the work 'appointment.' The word came out as something akin to 'ack!' as he jumped, noticing the pair of people sitting calmly in his living room.

"I made your appointment for this time when they called earlier this morning," Dorothy added.

Regaining his composure amidst the total strangers in his house, Roger pushed a handful of pillow-shaped hair out of his face. His inquisitive and fairly annoyed stare fixed on the _other_ butler. "Norman?"

"Sorry, Sir," Norman answered, the tray in his hands holding a cup of coffee. "She beat me to the phone."

Excusing himself momentarily, Roger re-entered his room an emerged decked out in the suit labeled for wear on this particular day of the week, with his hair combed to top it off. Though the suit felt a bit odd; he had a feeling Dorothy had gone switching the labels again to prove that each was the same no matter what day of the week it was. She just couldn't appreciate fine suits, Roger figured.

"Sorry about that," he apologized, sitting down on the other side of the coffee table from his guests, chin resting on his backs of his hands. "So, what can I do for you?"

One of the perspective clients was a tall old man, his chin square and prominent. The other was a little old lady in a wheelchair, most certainly old enough to have forgotten everything she'd known forty years ago.

"No trouble, no trouble at all!" The gentleman proclaimed, almost embarrassed to be in the room as he scratched his head. "We just, well...have a little disagreement with an insurance company over an accident and figured we should get a negotiator."

Roger sat back. All insurance companies in the city were subsidiaries of Paradigm. He _hated_ dealing with Paradigm.

This would be a trip.

~~~

"Oh, no. Every time you show up, something monumental and terrible happens."

With a lighthearted shrug and slight grin, Roger answered, "I'll take that as a compliment."

"What are you negotiating for, anyway?" Major Dastun sighed, surveying the wrecked workspace he had only came to see a few minutes ago.

"The owners," Roger answered. Peering around at the trashed room and the detectives, he found this to be an extremely boring case. The room was cold and dingy, unused in years, decades, perhaps before the Event. Ancient electronic equipment lay on tables and ran through disused consoles, all of it degraded beyond repair. On one wall, a ceiling-height glass capsule stood shattered at the middle, its liquid contents puddle on the floor. "Turns out they didn't know they owned the place until the military police inquired about the, ah, accident. So the insurance company's trying to get out of paying for a coverage plan they didn't know they had with them. Thought I'd survey the damage."

"You don't think it was an accident?" Dastun raised an eyebrow.

Roger could tell he had gone into game mode. Dastun knew the answer to his question before asking it and likely agreed, but being social with one another was always an amusing diversion for Roger. "Oh, I dunno..."

In fact, it had been the first thing Roger had noticed. The glass from the capsule-thing was lying around in shards _in the room,_ not lining the capsule's bottom. Something had broken out of it from the inside.

Moreover, there was a dent in one wall, and the fine vertical lines made the obvious pattern of a clenched fist. Though what Roger couldn't figure out was why someone would or _could_ inflict such a blow on a metal wall, likely breaking every bone in their hand in the process.

~~~

This city was incredible. Incredible and...different. New, but only new to a man born before its construction, woken long after its completion. Paradigm City. The city of change. The city where humanity prospered at its finest.

The city where one man, wandering around aimlessly and taking in the sights, was completely lost. His eyes were a bit twitchy as if he were paranoid, the frayed bellbottoms and blue jacket over a red T-shirt combined into a fashion sense like nothing anyone had seen after the amnesia, and he found himself oddly without a place to go.

"Hey there."

Stopping dead in his tracks, the man turned to see the speaker standing on a set of stairs leading to a building's door, a fellow of medium height with blonde hair, a goofy grin, and with the worst goatee in existence.

"You look lost. What's your name?"

Holding onto his jacket by the lapels as if physical activity was important for his thought process, he answered, "Jiro..."

"Well Jiro," the man with the goatee answered, "the lost usually take comfort in the arts. Maybe you should head over thata'way."

Jiro watched as the man jabbed his thumb in the direction of another street at the next intersection before he hopped off of the stairs and bounded away. "Strange man..."

'The arts,' he had said. Wasn't music an art? Jiro really wanted to find a guitar.

~~~

"C'mon Dan, you wouldn't be holding out on my, would you?"

"Oh, alright, fine," Major Dastun sighed, reaching into his coat pocket. "_Just_ because you're representing the victims in this case, mind you. Here."

Raising an eyebrow at the piece of paper Major Dastun has handed him, Roger said, "It's a kid. And a poorly drawn one, at that."

"It's an _artist's conception,_" Dan huffed. "A few witnesses saw this guy leave around the time we think this all happened. Said he seemed really dazed and nervous."

"I see," Roger tucked the sketch into his own pocket. He made a mental note to show this to his clients the next time he spoke with one of them. He wasn't seeing the connection; that capsule thing was made of pretty thick glass, some kid wasn't going to break it, nor was he going to survive trapped inside it for very long in the first place.

Still, Roger was not a man to jump to conclusions. He headed for the door. "Let me know if you find anything."

"By the way," Dan called after him, "your friend Beck was broken out of prison."

"Huh? Who?" Roger's eye twitched.

"Sure," Dan shook his head in reassignment, "but the guards say a giant fist dropped through his cell and scooped him right up. Couldn't even see what it was attached to. Probably a Megadeus."

And then the ground rumbled. Roger raced down to the building's first floor and looked up and down the street.

The most bizarre thing he had ever witnessed greeted his eyes.

And all hell had broken loose.

To top it off, he could already hear Major Dastun running down the stairs with his men behind him, the other military police officers scrambling around the street as backup arrived even now. None of them had any idea what to do.

A giant _hand_ was crawling its way down the road, clearly mechanical. Roger could see a chunk of forearm dragging behind it. It was so large it tore through the pavement and scraped walls off of buildings as it plodded along.

It was even a little larger than a Megadeus.

But there would be no Megadeus right now, because while Roger could see all of this, everyone on the street could see _him._ This in mind, he ran to his car. Time to find a nice, secluded alleyway.

~~~

The odd man on the corner had pointed Jiro to a music shop. A _music_ shop. Jiro was in Heaven, looking at all the new, fancy guitars, most based on some sort of technology, but there were a few classics, a few that only reverberated through their own wood and made music through their own strings.

Unfortunately, Jiro now realized he had no money. But he would _get_ money, so it was worth it to have information. He watched the store's clerk sell some new drumsticks to a customer before walking up and asking his question. "Excuse me...how much does that guitar over there cost?"

The instrument in question, a gleaming plastic piece made to look like wood, had absolutely perfect acoustics and tuning. Jiro could tell by looking at it.

"That basic thing?" The clerk chuckled; he found it nowhere near as impressive. "Thirty bucks. Nah, make it twenty-five, I need to get _rid_ of it."

Wanting desperately to have it in his hands, Jiro took one last look. He just couldn't _buy_ anything right now. "That sounds reasonable...but...I don't have any money on me, can I come back for it some other time?"

"Sure thing, Pal," the man behind the register said. "You're the first person to want something so outdated, it'll be around for awhile."

And then the ground rumbled.

Jiro didn't understand the significance of this, though the other customers in the store immediately ran out, while the clerk looked and sounded a bit terrified. "Oh _man,_ why'd something big have to happen around _here..._"

He ran into the store's back room, either to exit through the back door or find something before leaving. Jiro turned, ready to see what was going on. But he stopped when that nice guitar caught his eye again, he wanted it so bad he could _taste_ it. And no one was left in the store; it was so small that the owners had seemed to have seen fit not to install any security cameras.

On the other hand, his conscience reminded him that stealing was wrong.

But then, the guy had said he didn't even want it anymore. And Jiro didn't think he was going to have an easy time finding a job and making a little cash, what would a little forced charity hurt?

He ran outside to witness the general public running for their lives down one direction of the street from what was crawling up the other, a new guitar strapped nicely to his back.

His skin crawled when he saw what everyone was running from in a panic. At least, he thought it _felt_ like his skin was crawling, so it must've been the sensation humans used that particular expression to describe.

It was a hand. A giant, severed robotic hand, and it had been the robotic hand of Dr. Gill's gigantic ultimate weapon.

Jiro froze; all he could do was stare at it and feel the distinct emotions of wonder, terror and confusion all at the same time.

Screeching his car to a stop, Roger dashed out, took a second to lock the door, and found the fire escape of the nearest building. He had switched streets, and he knew the giant hand was opposite the building he was climbing. His next action would've seemed odd to anyone else; he talked into his wristwatch as he dashed for the little building's roof. "Norman?"

"About thirty seconds until arrival, Sir," his butler answered, deadpan as always. Roger liked that, it meant paying attention to Norman required less effort, effort better suited to the task at hand.

This task took a turn for the bizarre when he found that someone else was already standing on the rooftop; someone whose bandaged face and rags-for-clothes made his identity obvious. Roger was, to say the least, surprised. "Schwarzwald?"

"Ah, Mr. Smith," the crazy old man answered, not really paying attention. He was looking over the edge of the roof, the edge Roger had just parked in font of. "Hello."

Putting two and two together, Roger approached him. "_You're_ behind this."

"Oh, I'm behind a lot of things," Michael Seebach answered, casually dismissing Roger and moving from his spot, peering down in the space between this building and the one next to it. "Won't it be fun to see just what the 'this' is you're referring too actually, well..._is?_"

Roger made no move to restrain him, there was something odd about the oddball's demeanor and he decided to learn more. After all, the last time he had seen the guy, Roger had nearly been thrashed and beaten by Big Duo."Not really. I'd just as soon you didn't do 'it.' What is it this time, 'Big Three?'"

"As if you know what 'it' is," Schwarzvald answered, ignoring the comment, much to Roger's chagrin. He was right, after all. This time, he moved to look out onto the street where the massive hand was leaving destruction in its wake as it crept through the city. The military police were literally being crushed if they didn't move fast enough between taking shots at it.

"So why don't you enlighten me," Roger half-chuckled. But he received no answer. Schwarzvald was staring at something down below, something that had caught his attention. "Seebach?"

Again, Roger was ignored. He walked over to the same edge, careful to stay quite distant from Schwarzvald as he tried to follow his gaze. He ended up looking at a young man watching the robot hand, almost entranced by it. Roger froze; the guy had the face of the sketch Major Dastun had given him.

"Kikaider," Seebach drawled, his reaction entirely more enthusiastic. "Ahhhh, _Kikaider..._"

"What?" Roger turned, but Schwarzvald was already leaving, running and leaping to the roof of the next building, headed for the robot arm.

Roger decided not to follow. There was a better way. He raised his arm, and spoke into his wristwatch once more. Certainly, thirty seconds had passed. "Big O! It's _showtime!_"

Jiro was dumbfounded. He had no idea how such a large chunk of that machine could have survived. And did he just see someone jump onto it?

It was time for action. Determined, Jiro took a step forward...and was cut off by the blacktop exploding in front of him, giving way for a massive robot...he thought it was a robot...as it climbed to the surface from underground. Black, humanoid, and huge, but small enough to fit in the robot hand's palm if it wasn't careful.

Cast in the name of God  
Ye not guilty

Satisfied as he settled into Big O's cockpit, Roger turned briefly to glimpse at that young man - Kikaider, Schwarzvald had said - before he walked Big O towards the target. It was much too large for any hand-to-hand combat, he knew, but long-range attacks were still game.

Keeping his distance, Roger was about to let a first shot loose, determine how much armor the giant crawling hand had. It couldn't be all that much; upon taking a closer look, he noticed much of its' outer 'skin' was being held together by mis-matched metal plates and rusted scrap, as if it had been damaged and repaired on a much lower budget.

"Okay, Big O," Roger adjusted his aim a little, "let's see how tough this thing is."

Big O's hands raised with palms out, Roger using them as a makeshift gunsight to center his target. He clicked the trigger.

Big O's eyes grew bright, firing off twin beams into the target. The burning light scraping across two knuckles and further down the wrist, the robot hand twitched and seemed to grow agitated. The damage was, evidentially, superficial and anger inducing.

"What?" Roger's jaw dropped as he watched through the viewscreen, seeing the hand suddenly accelerate from crawling to _sprinting_ on its fingers, straight at him. He barely managed to jump Big O a good distance backward before the metal limb clenched into a fist and, using its segment of forearm for leverage, bounded up and crashed down.

Staring in shock, Roger realized what a close call he'd just had. The fist unfurled, showing the massive dent it had left in the middle of the street. It was no wonder the blacktop hadn't collapsed into the old subway.

Still trying to comprehend what freak event had made this situation possible, Jiro was barely cognizant enough to avoid being stepped on. The giant robot was duking it out with the Armageddon Lord's _right hand._

And what _was_ this giant robot? Something new? Komyoji's latest work?

...how long had he been asleep, anyway? Remembering to keep his distance, Jiro watched as the hand and the robot continued trading blows, the latter using its speed advantage to duck and dodge around the giant fingers threatening to crush it.

Finally, the robot stood under the hand's ring finger as it came whistling down, seconds from delivering a crushing hit.

The robot caught the fingertip in both of its hands, stopping it dead.

"Nice try," Roger smiled, clicking the triggers on both of his arm yokes. He felt the reverb when Big O's pistons pulled back, and felt his victory when they triggered.

The double blow coursed through the metal Big O held in its hands, rending that one ring finger apart piece by piece in a violent wind that stopped at the knuckle.

The hand, with this new loss of some mobility, backed off a little. Roger decided to go on the offensive.

Big O took a step forward under his direction, and then...then...his head became wracked with pain, the controls no longer more important to Roger than the action of mashing his hands to ears in an attempt to blot out the most grating, most painful, most _awful_ noise he had ever heard in his life. It was almost a whistle, if one dared to insult whistles in such a fashion. It was nails-on-a-chalkboard painful only it was literally _painful_ and not just annoying.

Big O grabbed at its head as well, stumbling around, perhaps in response to its pilot losing control. Or perhaps because the noise drove it mad as well. Roger barely noticed this beyond the peculiar sensation of what he would describe as his brain running out through his ears and down between his fingers. "What...what _is_ that!"

Big O's back smashed into a building when it stumbled too far. And then it leaned forward and kept from falling over by moving too fast and crashing headfirst into another building across the street.

The radar screen blipped onto an image of Schwarzvald from wherever he was, a dark place, shrouded by some sort of liquid as if he were floating in it and breathing through it. Roger barely heard him speak, "Do you like the music, Negotiator? Do you see how small you and your Megadeus are? I told you your machines are nothing compared to what humanity doesn't remember. How the mighty have fallen!"

Straining through the sounds cutting into his head, Roger reached a shaky hand to one of the yokes, determined to regain control of Big O if it killed him. He tried to ignore Schwarzwald, but the scarred man's voice was just as piercing as this faux flute.

"Try all you want, Mr. Smith, but you'll be in my way no longer," even as he spoke the words, Schwarzvald's attention wandered and he looked to the side, something getting his attention. "Oh no you don't, Kikaider!"

His image blipped off. Out of the corner of his eye, Roger could see that kid, Kikaider, _jumping_ up the robotic hand leap by leap, reaching the rooftop he was headed for...the roof that _Beck_, of all people, stood on as he played a flute.

The hand turned sharply and headed towards that building even as Kikaider jumped off of it for the final time, intent on cutting him off.

"_Stop_ it," Jiro shouted.

Amused, Beck backed up a little and kept playing, but Jiro didn't give up. He readied himself to rush at Beck, break the flute, and then break his neck, not necessarily in that order.

And the robot hand smashed down onto the roof in front of him, the remaining fingers already turning it towards Jiro.

His voice ringing out through an unseen speaker, Schwarzvald yelled, "Remember me, Kikaider?"

The flute stopped. Beck, now more concerned with not getting squashed, was backing off.

But on the street, Big O was righting itself.

It had stopped. Mercifully, it had _stopped._ Recovering slowly, Roger pulled his hands away from his head, intent on regaining control. His gloves, stained dark, let off a coppery scent; he'd been bleeding from the ears.

Right now, he didn't care. He turned Big O towards the monstrosity shaped like a hand. "C'mon, Big O," he rasped out, feeling the Megadeus trying to regain balance. _"Chromebuster!"_

But his finger stopped dead over the trigger when he saw Kikaider standing on the roof, directly in front of his target, big enough to be vaporized by a large beam such as what he was setting up.

And he really didn't want to kill the person who was _obviously_ a link between his current job, Schwarzvald's rampage, and Beck's antics. "Dammit! C'mon, Kid, get outta the way!"

"You're wondering who I am, Kikaider," Schwarzvald's voice continued, "why my friend down there has the flute you so loathe, how I even know you in the first place. Part of me wants to tell you, part of me wants to watch you figure it out on your own. And then there's the urge to tear you apart now and be done with it."

Suddenly, the hand's palm turned down and it reared up, slapping the roof on the way down. The building almost caved in from the top, but Beck now stood in the space where the hand once had the finger destroyed by Big O. At this, Schwarzvald again spoke. "Beck, keep playing!"

"No!" Jiro shouted, remembering how that friendly, if somewhat large robot had gone nuts. Slapping a fist to the opposite shoulder, he recalled the bad memories such a thing dug up. "I won't let you hurt people!"

His other arm crossed the first, the other fist likewise pressing the button on the other shoulder.

And Kikaider was born anew.

But Kikaider was tiny compared even to this small part of Dr. Gill's ultimate weapon, so he didn't aim to destroy it. Instead, he crossed his arms in front of him, and barreled straight through the finger in front of Beck using the attack that usually heralded the very end of his target. Beck was caught completely off guard before he could start playing again.

Schwarzwald, seeing all of this from inside his odd craft, commanded the hand to squeeze those two fingers together and crush them both, but Kikaider tossed Beck right out over one of them to where he had stood moments ago and followed, the flute now rolling a few feet away.

Kikaider landed over Beck with his hands wrapped around the human's throat. "You will _not play it again._"

Looking up at the large robot now in front of him, Jiro again thought back to being a slave under that ungodly flute's tune, realizing what his oversized brethren must be thinking now.

But he realized something else; he was on the way. He had made himself an impromptu ally of said robot by attacking Beck and challenging the odd man inside the hand, but now, he stood between them.

"An android?" Running on an adrenaline high, Roger stared in shock. The sharp pain in his head was forgotten. "He's an _android?!_"

It wasn't the whole android thing that _really_ bothered him, it was what he had just seen the android _do._ He didn't know androids could _do_ that! Sure, Dorothy was faster and stronger than a human, but nothing like this.

The android, Kikaider, was still in the way. But he remedied this situation by dropping Beck, leaving him to hack and wheeze, and leaping away.

His foot crushed the flute as he left. Roger was grateful for that as he pulled the trigger.

Schwarzvald was too slow in recognizing what the buildup of energy at Big O's head meant. Seconds later, the Chromebuster attack went off and slammed into the robot limb at its wrist, melting through and piercing it entirely.

A gaping hole was left over in that spot when the beam cut out.

Unfortunately, it was still moving. Roger had hoped Schwarzvald's cockpit wouldn't be in the palm, but alas, it seemed it was not.

Still, he was retreating, cursing all the way as he forced his injured craft to crawl down the other side of the building.

By the time Roger had steered Big O closer to look over the side of the building, the hand had already dug its way underground, deep down, tunneling through the soft earth between the old tunnels to where Schwarzvald felt comfortable.

"_Damn_ it," Roger cursed. He looked around for Beck, but that freak had long since hopped, skipped and jumped away. Roger did, however, see Kikaider still standing on the rooftop.

He watched, captivated, as Kikaider's form faded back to the human facade as the android slowly turned and looked at Big O. An eerie, completely irrational feeling worked its way into Roger's gut, as if Kikaider wasn't really looking at Big O in the first place. _Is...is he,_ he struggled to put his thoughts in order, _is he looking at **me?**_

Roger couldn't wait to talk to this ki...this android. Android...unlike his original meeting with Dorothy, Roger had seen this android in nice, illuminating daylight and had been fooled _completely._ Androids weren't supposed to emulate humans that well. At least, the ones Roger knew didn't. Dorothy had her own unique charm, Instro was a brilliant musician, but they still acted like robots.

Pressing the pedals down, Roger nudged Big O a step forward.

And Kikaider bolted.

"Hey!" Roger yelled, locking Big O's scanners on the android before he was out of sight on the next street over. Kikaider was running, and so, Roger had Big O run as well. Occasionally, he could see Kikaider and his un-breaking stride between the buildings, but only so much. The military police was chasing him as well, now that Dastun had the time and most certainly recognized him, but they were way behind.

After a few seconds of this, Roger's strain caught up with him. The actual crisis was over and his combat high was wearing off. The splitting pain between his ears slowly grew more obvious, the blood dripping down his neck feeling all the more wet. He didn't want to spend anymore time chasing after someone than absolutely necessary.

Twisting the dial on his watch just the right way, Roger summoned his Griffin. The car sped out from its parking space and crossed the streets, rushing ahead of Kikaider and going unnoticed.

Almost at the same time, Roger exited Big O, its autopilot set to return to the tunnels.

What am I doing, Jiro thought, _where am I going to go? That robot..._

He slowed down not long after an errant car zoomed by him and made a sharp corner at the intersection, probably a delayed citizen getting away from the area of carnage, or at least it would have been, had the vehicle possessed a driver. He knew those authorities were on his tale, but he also knew he could afford to slow to a walk and think for a minute.

This was insane. Nothing in this city was familiar to him, and Jiro didn't have the slightest clue on what to do next. He decided, first, it would be prudent to walk down a different street, and headed for the intersection he'd seen that car barrel down.

But that car barreled _back_ and cut him off, stopping with the passenger side door only inches away. Jiro froze, ready for anything, noting that the car actually _had_ a driverthis time, a frazzled looking man in his late twenties. He was shaken up, likely gripping he steering wheel so tightly so his hands wouldn't shake.

And the blood running down from his ear was smeared with his glove print. Nevertheless, he spoke curtly. "Get in."

Startled from this new development and having no intention of doing so, Jiro jumped back and decided he could still evade the authorities even if he ran back a little.

The car screeched into reverse and skidded in a controlled swerve, cutting him off again. The driver now sounded annoyed and rushed. And he was going to get what he wanted. "This is _not_ negotiable!"

Hearing the sirens approaching, Jiro considered for a moment.

Slinging his guitar off of his back so he could sit down, he opened the rear door and didn't close it until he had settled into the back seat.

The car took off, long before Major Dastun was down the street enough to see.

~~~

Thanks to Jonesy and CW for their audience, advice, and general help.

A couple notes on continuity: yes, I'm aware the Armageddon Lord's hands were pincer-claw type things and not proper hands with five fingers, but I took a creative liberty because I really wanted the thing's severed hand to actually be able to move about and stuff.

For those of you who have only seen the Kikaider OVA on Cartoon Network; yes, Jiro survives the Armageddon Lord's destruction. An entire scene is cut out from the end of the OVA's final episode, showing us Jiro walking away in tears.

This story takes place after "Enemy is Another Big," as evidenced by Roger remembering Big Duo briefly, and acts as a sort-of replacement for "R - D" and the rest of the series.

Ref list:

-The act title is a reference to a **Guns N'Roses** song by the same name.

-The song Dorothy is playing on the piano is "Requiem for Hiroshima and Nagasaki." The most recent public use of this song I can think of was for the second half of an X2 trailer. I know too little about music to say for sure, but I doubt that it'd be possible to play this song this obnoxiously on a piano in real life, if at all. But then, Dorothy's crazy enough to at least try.

-Major Dastun says to Roger; "oh no, every time you show up, something monumental and terrible happens" This line comes from Legacy of Kain: Soul Reaver 2.

We have come to terms


	2. Red Destiny

**

**

Paradigm Shift

Alhazred - madarab20@hotmail.com - 

The Big O and Kikaider are © to their respective owners; profit is not made by this work.

Act 2: Red Destiny

"Where are we going?"

It was a perfectly legitimate question, though Roger was not inclined to answer perfectly legitimate questions at the moment. His head hurt, his ears rang, and his vision was blurred because of it. It wasn't a good time to be driving a car, let alone let his concentration slip. Therefore, he decided to come up with simple, one-word answers. "Home."

"Where's home?"

Staring at the seemingly human android in the rear-view mirror, Roger decided that maybe he could make conversation after all. Perhaps shocking his passenger for more information would help. "You ask a lot of questions...Kikaider."

Kikaider's eyebrows went up. Roger continued, tapping a fist to his shoulder for emphasis. "That's a neat trick you do."

"How did you..."

Kikaider's voice faded. The question was obvious. Roger grinned despite himself. "I watched. You watched me too, in the Megadeus."

"Megadeus?" Kikaider said.

Something in his voice made Roger think. "You really don't know, do you? You've never seen them on the news or, God forbid, found one somewhere..."

"I thought it was just a robot," Kikaider answered, starting to plink at the guitar sitting in his lap. "I don't remember anything like that from before I went to sleep."

"Heh," Roger chuckled, swerving to avoid some traffic, "You're in the wrong place for memories, Kikaider."

"Jiro."

It was Roger's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Come again?"

"My name is Jiro."

"Jiro," Roger repeated. What a name...it sounded rather...foreign. "Finally."

Pulling into his garage, Roger took the opportunity to call Norman ahead for a cup of coffee. There was too much going on to give in to the temptation of falling asleep immediately after cleaning up.

~~~

Jiro thought this was a nice house. Elegant, like Mitsuko's, but a different style. Somewhat...'Victorian,' was the word. The rooftop vantage was rather Greek with its standing columns and arches, though.

And what of Roger? Jiro wondered if he should trust the man's intentions, but so far he'd seen no evidence to suggest anything _really_ nasty. And, if he had interpreted his words, right, Roger _did_ pilot that big robot to save people with.

Though the hourglasses on the table were a bit odd. Curious, Jiro picked one of them up. The craftsmanship was excellent, and they were all very elegant timepieces. He turned it over in his hand and, watching the sands flow, considered how time had changed his life.

How long was I sleeping?

He couldn't help but wonder. Ten years? Twenty? More? Roger had said he was in the wrong place for memories. Perhaps there was a literal implication in that. The man seemed very unperturbed by the appearance of a chunk off the Armageddon Lord, and that thing had destroyed half a city in minutes.

It had been so long. _So long...so long and I don't even feel any better, I didn't accomplish anything, I can still feel Professor Gill gnawing at my heart...my heart..._

He patted his chest with his other hand. A heart...as if it were real. _Stupid, stupid Jiro, you didn't solve anything, what did Mitsuko think when you never went back to her and dammit all to hell, why are you so afraid..._

A bad subject. Jiro decided that he should stop thinking like this when he realized he was thinking about himself in the third person. The sand in the hourglass continued to flow, and all it did was remind him more of why he fought desperately to keep his feelings in check and bottled away. Ichiro and Rei...surely they had now been gone for a long time, destroyed by his own hand. _Why...why why **why** did I do that..._

His hand grew tight around the wood and glass.

"Do you hear a ringing in your ears, Master Roger?" Norman poked his ear-checker thingamabob into Roger's right ear as he said this, looking through it carefully.

"No, Norman, I just feel something _poking_ it," Roger answered, a bit annoyed. He had hoped to _avoid_ this, but Norman was insistent and had lulled Roger into a false sense of security by letting him take a shower and what was probably a few too many aspirin as soon as he walked in the door. He had been assaulted with the medical equipment as soon as he had gotten dressed and sat down on his bed to think a minute.

Technically, it had been after he had told Norman and Dorothy to keep an eye on Jiro. He seemed harmless enough, first spending a few minutes playing something a bit sad on his guitar outside on the rooftop lanai. Roger didn't know where he'd wandered off to after that, he wasn't in the living room. "Where's the kid?"

Again, he surprised himself with his choice of words. Deciding to get used to the fact that Jiro was absurdly human-like, and that he would ask him why, Roger put it out of his mind for the moment.

"He's wandered off to explore a little, I don't think he feels quite safe so I felt it best to give him the benefit of the doubt," Norman answered, snapping his fingers next to Roger's ear twice after withdrawing his thingamabob. "Can you hear that?"

"Ow! Yes!" Roger snapped, leaping to his feet. He could see in the mirror on the wall that Norman was not perturbed. "I'll go find him, I need to ask him about some things. None the _least_ of which is what he has to do with the actual job I have at the moment."

But at the moment, Roger suddenly heard the sound of glass breaking, combined with wood splintering. From the same place as when...

An hourglass had broke. The culprit was obvious. **"R. Dorothy Wayneright!"**

"Yes?"

"Dghahh!" Roger jumped and spun around, seeing Dorothy at his door, holding a tray with a cup of hot tea on it. "If not you, than..."

Storming out, Roger's sudden realization prompted Dorothy and Norman to follow.

Unfortunately, Roger was rather livid at the sight of his favorite hourglass destroyed _again,_ and this caused him to act before thinking the situation through. "Didn't your creator teach you not to _break_ other peoples' property, Kikaider!"

But Jiro couldn't find the words to answer him. His hand, still held out as he sat dumbly in the corner, shook as it clasped the last bits of wood and glass, sand still running between his fingers. He whimpered, "I...I..."

Viciously grabbing the dustpan Norman had retrieved to clean up with, Roger took it upon himself to gather the sand from the floor. At one point, he looked up at the ceiling and mumbled, "Why does everyone hate me before they even know me?"

"It saves time, Roger," Dorothy added.

Roger's eyes turned in her direction, and he was about to say something obnoxious in response when a small sound caught his notice. Jiro was…crying?

His back plastered the wall and knees drawn to his chest, Jiro most certainly _was_ crying, sounding like he was trying to hold it back. It didn't work; soon, Jiro's small emotional display turned into outright wailing, his fist clenching so tight around the broken pieces it held that he was nearly _making_ sand.

"Huh," Roger blinked. "I didn't know androids could do _that,_ either."

Before he knew it, Roger found himself shoved aside, further onto the floor, by Dorothy as she strode past with no thought to say 'excuse me.'

As quietly as her servos allowed, she sat down next to Jiro. Never breaking her attitude of one-hundred-percent deadpan, she put an arm around him and gently patted his shoulder. "Your sense of compassion needs work, Roger Smith."

"Perhaps Master Roger should get some rest," Norman said, doing his best to shoo Roger out of the room.

"But…but!" Roger's protested. He was, however, in no condition to put up any sort of fight.

~~~

Dorothy's patting on his back would've driven Jiro even more insane in another few minutes, but she had the sense to stop. It did seem a bit awkward, however, to be bawling one's eyes out with a woman, however artificial and monotone she may be, sitting two inches away. On this thought, Jiro forced himself to calm down. It didn't entirely work, but he had, at least, gone from hugging his knees and near wailing to quietly sobbing.

"You should calm down. Excessive emotional episodes aren't healthy," Dorothy pointed out.

Jiro couldn't help but find this a bit amusing. "Don't I know it."

"Oh really," Dorothy asked. To someone who didn't know she was an android, she might have sounded sarcastic.

"I killed my brothers," Jiro squeaked, the words bringing the memories straight back to the forefront of his thoughts, threatening to send him back over the edge. He squinted his eyes shut to keep the tears back, hands clenched tightly around his kneecaps. "I try to forget it and I _can't_ and I just keep seeing them in a pile of rubble every time I close my eyes…"

"Rubble," Dorothy repeated.

Her hand moved to his arm, an action that made him jump. He watched intently as she pushed back his sleeve and grabbed his wrist behind the glove on his hand.

She was squeezing; hard enough to snap human bones, not nearly enough to dent flesh-simulating, high-grade metal. But he flinched anyway; her hand was cold.

"Why are you warm?" She asked, letting go.

"Huh?" Jiro hadn't thought about before; he raised his arm and stared a the spot she had touched, the cool metal feeling from her hand lingering over his body heat.

"Androids are usually cold," she added.

~~~

_

_

This is the way the world ends...

The rain wasn't violent, but it was heavy. Roger's umbrella held back enough to keep him reasonably dry, though his clothes grew a little more damp when the wind would pick up.

Wait, rain?

It never rained under the domes. Not like this, anyway. Not from an honest-to-God _cloud._ But then, there was no dome here. Only a city taking shelter from the rain.

Roger's reflection in a puddle caught his attention. He felt out of place rather suddenly, a wanderer in a new town. A man wearing a long red cloak and dark sunglasses nudged passed him. His reflection in the puddle became a lab, manned by an aging man bathed in blue light from an unseen source, fear in his eyes as he screamed in silence.

The surreal reflection was now Roger's surroundings, until an old room, a single book on the pedestal in front of him, replaced this. A breeze came in from an open window, fluttering the pages but not enough to turn any all the way. He read from the top of one.

_

_

We are the hollow men  
We are the stuffed men...

A jump ahead, the parts in the middle blurry and unreadable.

__

This is the dead land  
This is cactus land 

His eyes slowly opening, Roger Smith remembered his bed, and he remembered that he had slept in it the night before. What a strange dream he had had.

And what was that noise? Instinctively, he bolted upright, Dorothy's name on his tongue, but the negotiator refrained from screaming it at the top of his lungs when he realized the music was not her obnoxious piano playing, but a melancholy tune plucked from a guitar.

Scratching his head and resisting the immense urge to pluck at his ear (more because it was undignified rather than dangerous with what he'd gone through yesterday,) Roger shrugged on his bathrobe and plodded out of the room. The guitar was Jiro's; he was standing on the rooftop lanai, playing as he stared out at the city.

Immediately, Roger remembered his poor hourglass. "Damn kids."

Quickly, he froze. That was…how long ago did Norman force him to take a nap? He looked at the clock.

He had brought Jiro home at around one o'clock. He fell asleep around one-thirty. The clock now read _noon._ Roger had slept for almost twelve hours through the day and night.

"Sleep well, Master Roger?"

"Norman," Roger sighed at the site of Norman bringing him his morning (in this case, his _afternoon_) tea, "why on Earth did you let me sleep through the rest of the day? I'm supposed to be working, after all."

"One can hardly work if one collapses from exhaustion and pain, Sir," Norman answered, presenting the tray for Roger to take the cup from.

The negotiator did so, looking around to make sure Dorothy hadn't let anyone in before he'd woken up again. That reminded him of something. "Next time you get a minute, call those two who were here yesterday. I need to mention the word 'Kikaider' and see how they react."

"Yes, I anticipated you would like to try that," Norman went to dusting off the table, "so I've been trying to call them all morning, but, alas, it seems the phone number they left was a fake."

"How odd," Roger thought aloud. "They paid up front. Shady clients never pay before they disappear."

Jiro didn't stop playing until he heard Roger come out behind him.

"Lovely afternoon for a few plucks on the ol' strings, eh Jiro?"

Turning, Jiro was almost taken aback by this new sight of Roger Smith; cleaned up, dressed in freshly ironed clothes and not suffering whatever it was he had gone through the previous day, the man was almost intimidating in his stature.

Almost. Jiro had taken down more intimidating men and machines. But for now, Jiro's bad thoughts about Roger didn't really outweigh the good. "I'm sorry about your hourglass."

"I'll rebuild it later," Roger answered, not entirely forgiving, but not angry, either. He joined Jiro at the edge of the roof. "There's something I'd like to ask you."

Jiro's eyes widened slightly, signaling Roger to continue. The negotiator did so. "What memories do you have? Before forty years ago, I mean?"

"Forty years ago?" Jiro asked, stunned. How long had he been gone? "I...I don't understand. I've been asleep but I don't know for how long..."

"I see," Roger answered. "Forty years ago, the people of Paradigm City lost their memories. All records of events prior to that lost. No one remembers anything before that day."

"What?" Jiro blinked. Now _this_ was unexpected. Clearly, he had been sleeping for more than forty years, because people had history when he was awake. "I just...I wanted to leave everyone alone. I'm...I _thought_ I was too dangerous."

"You're remarkable, you know that?" Roger flat-out spoke. "You're like a time traveler. Someone once told me, a Megadeus is cake compared to the advances humanity lost after the Event. I look at Dorothy and then I look at you, and it's _absurd_ how human you are compared to her."

From inside the house, Dorothy's monotone sounded just loud enough to reach the roof. "I heard that, you louse."

Roger winced.

"Yeah," Jiro mumbled, thinking back to the things emotions had driven him to do. "Lucky me."

"So I have a little bit of a dilemma here, Jiro," Roger considered, gesturing with his hands as though they were a scale. "On one hand, I've got you, and I _know_ you've got something to do with my current clients because now I can figure out that you were sleeping on the property they're trying to claim insurance on. On the other hand, those aforementioned clients seem like they're trying to disappear. I _could_ try to find them, but it would be easier to track down answers if I try to find Schwarzwald or Beck and find out what connection _they_ have to you."

At this, Roger spun elegantly on his heels, shoved his hands in his pockets, and dramatically walked back towards the door. Halfway there, he realized his footsteps were the _only_ footsteps. His exit spoiled, he groaned and turned back to Jiro. "Are you coming, or not?"

"Huh?"

"Didn't you hear me?" Roger sighed. "The only people who have _anything_ to do with you are avoiding me. Which means you're probably going to be _another_ mouth to feed around here, and since Dorothy helps Norman, you might as well earn your keep by helping me negotiate. So c'mon already."

Slinging his guitar onto his back, Jiro's reply was a simple, "Okay."

Taking a look over his new, hopefully temporary field assistant, Roger noticed something that was horribly wrong. He gestured in Jiro's direction. "What _is_ that, anyway?"

"Huh? What?" Jiro turned and looked behind him, seeing nothing. He had no clue what Roger was talking about.

"No, _that,_" Roger said, pointing at Jiro.

Dorothy chose this time step out from tidying the living room and explain Roger's cryptic language. "Roger Smith is appalled that your sense of fashion is superior to his own."

Biting back an obscene word, Roger moved his finger from the 'pointing' position to the 'raised' position. "Dorothy is forgetting that one of my house _rules_ is that everyone wear black." He regarded Jiro, with his frayed bell bottoms, denim jacket and bright red T-shirt underneath. "And _that_ is certainly not black. C'mon."

Roger dragged Jiro past Dorothy to his bedroom and immediately began rummaging through the back of the closet, the place of dark memories.

Literally. His old clothes were just as black as his suits.

"Let's see...here's a start," he said, handing Jiro a black T-shirt without emerging from the small closet. "Pants...pants...I know I kept some old pants here, ah hah. And these are normally proportioned."

Jiro blinked as Roger tossed a pair of black jeans on top of the shirt now bundled in his arms. And it didn't end there. "I kept the military police uniform so I should have the black shoes around - there they are. And I used to wear _this_ when I was your age. Well, when I was the age you're designed to look like."

To top off the ensemble, Jiro found himself holding a pair of black dress shoes and a heavy, well-preserved leather trench coat.

"That outta do," Roger finished, stepping out of the room and leaving Jiro to change. He found Dorothy waiting for him as he closed the door.

"Your sense of fashion, Roger, really reeks."

"That's what you said the day you moved in here," Roger smirked. "Running out of one-liners, Dorothy?"

"On the contrary," she answered, "but why expend the effort and use up new material when the original statement still works just as well?"

Roger 'hrmphed,' glaring at her. A thought struck him, and on a whim, he leaned forward and put his hands on the fronts of Dorothy's shoulders.

He pushed. Nothing happened.

He shoved harder, and Dorothy did not move. Putting his weight into it, Roger succeeded in moving her back an inch or so, her feet scraping the floor before he stopped.

She asked, "Was there a particular reason for that, Roger?"

"Just making sure," Roger mumbled, straightening his tie.

~~~

Jiro wasn't entirely sure he liked the clothes Roger had given him. They were pretty baggy, the strap of his guitar didn't fit around the coat so he had to leave it at Roger's home, and the entire ensemble was...well, black. There was another thing that bothered him, too, as he noticed people on the street giving him odd looks every now and then. "For a human, wouldn't this be a little...inappropriate for the weather?"

It _was_ a little warm, Roger knew. He was tempted to take off his jacket and sling it over his shoulder, but that would be unprofessional. "So people have less of a hard time telling you're an android. That's a good thing. It's a low profile. If you don't look noteworthy, you won't attract more attention than you want to."

"Do I want to attract any attention at all?" Jiro asked.

"Probably not," Roger conceded.

Satisfied that Dan Dastun and his men were no longer milling about the building, Roger took Jiro inside and up the stairs, heading to the room he had looked around before the 'incident.' "So, this is where you woke up."

It was a simple statement of fact. Unfortunately, Jiro found this fact to be wholly incorrect. "No it isn't."

Roger stopped dead in his tracks. "It's _not?_"

Jiro shook his head. "I buried myself in an old subway tunnel."

"But people saw you leave here," Roger added.

Jiro just stared at him blankly.

Roger swung the door open. The sight that greeted him was so mind-blowing he found one word to describe his reaction. "Whhaat?"

A _dead body_ was tossed carelessly into the remains of that busted capsule. Roger knew it was a dead body because there was blood splattered on the far wall, the floor, and pooling in the capsule's floor. The victim looked rather like a street bum in old ragged clothes with a look of terror on his face.

"Cast in the name of God," Jiro spoke.

Roger turned, again, surprised, to see what Jiro was blabbering about. It wasn't as Jiro had been inside Big O himself, how did he know that line? Roger soon saw. He finished reading the words scrawled on the wall in blood. "Ye not guilty."

Below the scrawling, signed in the same blood after an elegant, equally bloody squiggly line, was the apparent name "R-D."

~~~

"And you just found it like this?"

"Look, Dan, you taught me how to be vague yourself, I think you'd know if I were lying about any of this."

"And him?"

"Leave him alone."

"I don't need to tell you to keep this under wraps, but this is the _fifth_ murder fitting this MO in two weeks. Know anything about it?" Dastun handed Roger a folder.

"Why would **I** know anything about it?" Flipping through the contents of the folder, Roger saw police photographs. Some photos were of the other victims. Some were of the same message scrawled at every scene, always scrawled in the victim's blood. Always signed, "R-D."

Jiro paid little attention to Roger arguing with Dan Dastun over the scene of the crime. He was more concerned with the crime. Something about this place seemed eerily familiar. He hadn't stayed long enough the last time he had looked in to notice, but the place had an atmosphere about it...it made Jiro think about Professor Gill. Or maybe that was just the dead body sprawled on top of the broken glass. Professor Gill had been good at leaving dead bodies.

Officer Dastun was giving Jiro a funny look every now and then, but Roger was hard pressed to notice. He was, in fact, quite distracted. As soon as etiquette permitted, he took his leave of the military police and dragged Jiro back to the Griffin.

That message left on the walls disturbed more than anyone knew. He couldn't help but keep it on the tip of his tongue. "Cast in the name of God...ye not guilty."

As he opened the door to his car, watching Jiro finally open the door to the _front_ passenger side instead of the back, Roger didn't notice an acquaintance of his approaching.

Jiro did, and his pause caused Roger to pause. The red hooded cloak he saw when he turned instantly made Roger think about his dream during the night, that man he had seen wearing the very same thing, but the person wearing it was different. Once Roger got over his shock, he said, "Well...it looks like there's an Angel about."

The blonde smirked, raising an eyebrow. "Getting over-sensitized to me, Negotiator? Seems like only yesterday I surprised you by walking into the room."

"Nothing surprises me anymore," Roger waved her off, getting into his car. He motioned for Jiro to do the same.

And then Angel got into the back seat.

"Hey," Roger raised his voice. "I'm not a taxi service!"

"Just drive," Angel told him, prompting Roger to floor the gas petal before she could even consider putting a seat belt on. "Ack!"

After she had recovered, Roger unabashedly pried for information. "So, what's Paradigm got to do with a serial killer scrawling messages in blood?"

"Now you see how you worded that?" Angel sat back, crossing her legs. "'What's Paradigm got to do with it.' Not 'why is Paradigm interested in it.' A little paranoid these days, Negotiator?"

"Just when you're around, Lady," Roger half-sighed.

Radically changing the subject, Angel turned her eyes from the back of Roger's head to the back of Jiro's. "I see you found Kikaider."

Roger hit the breaks. "Out. Everyone, _out._"

"Still need some improvements in the manners department, Roger?" Angel teased him, nevertheless complying with the order he had barked. Jiro did so as well, his attention fixated on the mass amounts of traffic Roger had stopped by coming to a halt in the middle of the road.

Roger, however, did _not_ notice this. "I want to know what you know about the murders, I want to know about _him,_" Roger jabbed a finger at Jiro, getting as much into Angel's face as he dared. "And I want to know _now._"

"Sorry, can't oblige," she smiled, reaching into her jacket pocket. She pulled out a piece of paper and tapped the folded edge to his chin. "Wanna be my date?"

"You're _kidding,_ right?" Roger faceflopped.

"I'm serious. Day after tomorrow. Pick me up at seven, and," she nodded towards Jiro, "Bring Kikaider, too."

With that, Angel slid the paper into Roger's own pocket and nonchalantly walked away, as if there were not twenty people screaming at Roger to continue driving. "I really hate that woman."

Resigned to wonder what she was up to this time, Roger waited for Jiro to get back in the Griffin before driving off. A thought struck him. "So. Where _did_ you wake up?"

~~~

Jiro hadn't really been expecting to backtrack his footsteps over the past two days, but it wasn't as hard as he thought it would be. Once he had directed Roger outside of the domes, buildings became more unique and therefore functioned better as landmarks.

Far beyond Roger's home and just beyond the city's boundary lay the old, decrepit entrances to the subway. Roger parked the car outside, unwilling to drive in. These tunnels bent and twisted, eventually leading to the very subway passages used for Big O's transport.

People were afraid to come here, afraid of the dark memories that might be hiding in the constructs of days gone by.

Roger was startled at what he _thought_ was someone walking in ahead of them, wearing that damnable red cloak.

"This is where I woke up," Jiro said.

They walked into the tunnel. There were lights on farther in, indicating that someone had been here recently. A massive box-like object was sprawled on the ground not twenty feet in. The thing was open like a casket, the inside shaped for a human (or something human-shaped) of Jiro's height, and it was damaged everywhere.

"But...it wasn't _like_ this," Jiro blinked. He had woken up propped up against a wall deeper in, alone and unharmed. He remembered blinking his eyes open and shoving the box open from the inside.

He grew angry and kept going before Roger stopped examining the box; someone had vandalized what he considered to be his personal property, what was, for all intents and purposes, his 'home' for more than 40 years.

Jiro ran down the tunnel at top speed, leaving Roger in his dust.

"Hey!" Roger called out, flipping on the flashlight he had brought from Griffin and giving chase. "Hey! Kikaider!"

As the echo from Jiro's footsteps died down, Roger came to a fork in the tunnel. The working lights went down the left tunnel, so Roger went there.

But Jiro had gone down the dark passageway. He had woken up in the lighted section. He wanted to know what else was in this place.

Roger soon found he needed his flashlight again when the lights on his chosen path went out. Not long after, he came to an artifact from the past; a few run-down subway cars sitting on the tracks.

He wasn't alone; he could hear footsteps, and when he turned his light towards them, a bright red cloak was illuminated for just an instant before the wearer ducked behind one of the cars.

A new voice echoed in the cramped space, "How are you today, Negotiator?"

"I'm doing just fine," Roger answered, after a pause. He took a step back, then another, putting distance between himself and an unseen, possibly hostile person. He put two and two together, remembering the red cloak. "How are _you,_ R-D?"

"R-D?" The voice, clearly belonging to a male, answered. "That's a new one. You've seen the messages I left at the murders, haven't you?"

"So it _was_ you," Roger said, deciding to play dumb. The words this for-now-disembodied voice had used didn't make total sense. "R-D?"

"That's not my name."

A clang of metal on metal, and Roger pointed his flashlight to the roof of a subway car. The cloaked man was crouched on top. "Then why sign your calling card with it?"

"A signature doesn't have to be a name," the man hopped down to the floor, Roger keeping the light on him. He couldn't see the face under the hood. "It can be a message as well. The meaning of the act."

"So the meaning is red-what?" Roger raised an eyebrow. "At least, given your _very_ dubious sense of fashion, I'm going to guess the 'R' means 'red.' So what's 'D'"

"Destiny," was the response. "Destiny, Negotiator. Right now, you're wondering why it was their destiny to die, why it was my destiny to commit the so-called crimes. The truth is, I'm a bit of a servant, kept in bondage by my own sub-conscience, forced to do the bidding of a long dead fool to keep his final, absurd master plan in motion."

Roger's left hand twitched. He was quite prepared to call his large friend right into the tunnel if this established murderer decided to become violent. "That still doesn't explain why you killed them. They had nothing in common, they weren't old enough to regain memories from forty years ago."

"Oh, but they _did_ have those memories," the cloaked man answered. Seeing Roger grow startled from the revelation, he laughed. "Surprised? You shouldn't be. You have memories of the world before the event as well, Roger Smith. Yours are perhaps the most valuable of all. And you're the last. Make no mistake, I won't let you leave here alive."

"You won't have much choice in the matter," Roger scowled.

"Memories of years gone by," the man continued, "memories of someone buried before his time, memories of the things that led to the Event itself, perhaps. If you were to live long enough to remember more, you would see how the world came to be populated by slaves at the whim of a madman. The Event was manmade, Roger Smith, and its final irony is that the man who made it will never be remembered."

Roger was getting impatient. Who was this freak, and why did he look like something out of his dream? Was his dream really a memory from forty years ago? "Who are you?"

"My brother might call my Saburo," the man answered. Reaching into his cloak, he pulled out what was possibly a shotgun, though Roger didn't recognize the two-barrel design. It lacked the pump the military police shotgun had.

Roger was diving out of the way before the first shot was fired. Saburo's shotgun blew a clean hole in the wall behind where he had been standing. Tossing his flashlight away, Roger ran as fast as he could and as best as he could without light, back the way he had came.

The light at the opening of the tunnel only made Roger a silhouette for Saburo to aim at, so after another shot barely missed, Roger doubled back into the original passage.

Unfortunately, he couldn't go as far as he hoped for at a run once the daylight stopped reaching inside. Pulling back his coat sleeve, Roger brought his watch to his face. "Big O!"

Nothing happened. This did little to please Roger. "Is it being jammed?"

"Roger Smith!" Saburo's voice called out behind him.

Another shot rang out. Unseen machinery sparked and whined under the impact, arcs of electricity bouncing around the damaged section on the wall to companion machines on the opposite side. Roger realized these must be the power generators for the local tunnels, but those small bolts of lighting were cutting off his path. He turned, his only option to somehow make it past Saburo.

But more electricity was bouncing around behind him as well, the entire mechanism damaged. And Saburo was approaching. For the first time, Roger could see his face; the rampant electricity was so bright it reached under the hood of his blood-red cloak. "You look like..."

"So you've met my brother?" Saburo answered. In a swift motion, he flung the cloak off; he did indeed look like Jiro as a sibling might, but Roger was more intrigued by the fact that he looked like the red-cloaked man from his dream, minus the dark sunglasses. Saburo leveled his shotgun at Roger's face. "My name is _Hakaider_."

"Hakaider?" Roger repeated. Suddenly, it all fell into place. Jiro's brother. A family resemblance. This was the one who had woken in that capsule in the city, and he looked enough like Jiro for a simple artist's conception to match either one of them.

Saburo pulled the hammer of his gun back. "Killing you and the others like you is as irresistible to me as opening an umbrella in the rain is to any sane human. Goodbye, _Negotiator!_"

Saburo's finger started to squeeze the trigger...a whoosh of air blew around Roger from behind, and...Jiro landed his fist right into his brother's face.

"Who is it _this_ time, Saburo!" Jiro yelled, Hakaider flying backwards but landing on his feet. "Who's in your head, Dr. Komyoji again? Huh? His son? Akira, maybe?"

Saburo transformed at the same time Jiro pressed his shoulder switched; sure enough, a human brain was wired to the top of Hakaider's head inside a glass case, as Kikaider knew there would be.

Roger took advantage of this situation; Jiro running through the electrical interference had dissipated it, so he ran towards the squaring-off brothers, just enough to be safe from the broken machinery, and started pressing a practiced sequence of buttons on his watch.

"Not bad guesses, Brother," Hakaider waved a finger. "One of them is even close. But I'm not telling you. I _will_ tell you that a little voice in my head is angry at you, and angry at your interference."

"Anger _this,_" Kikaider growled, in front of Hakaider in a heartbeat and landing a punch square in the other android's chest. Surprised, Hakaider went down several feet away.

"What's gotten into you, Kikaider? I could never get this out of you, since when did you stop being such a goody-two-shoes?" Almost unconsciously, Hakaider's hand went to his head, resting on the brain bowl. "Oh, I understand now...or rather, _you_ understand. You finally understand the dark nature of emotion! How does it feel, little Jiro, to be human and have _all_ of the benefits that come with it?"

"Shut up," Jiro yelled. "You've been killing people for _nothing!_ I'm not like you! I fight the evil in my heart back every second!"

"Maybe you don't understand after allll_aarrgh!_"

Kikaider had rushed his brother again, this time smashing him clear through the roof and jumping out after him.

This was the opportunity Roger needed. Staring at his watch, he turned the dial until Griffin's missile payload acquired aspect lock on the target. Roger aimed them straight for Kikaider, and when that little beep confirmed it, he pressed the trigger.

In midair, Kikaider saw the missiles coming and pushed off of Hakaider to get away. Seconds later, the pair of guided rockets slammed home, engulfing Hakaider in quite an impressive combination of explosion and flame.

Now trailing smoke and soot, Hakaider spiraled down and crashed into the ground with a distinct resemblance to Roger's strategy of falling on Big Duo during that particular engagement.

Big Duo was a better cushion for Big O than the ground was for Hakaider.

When the dust had cleared and Kikaider had reverted, gently falling to the ground with a swoosh of the coat Roger had given to him, Hakaider was gone. His point of impact was a hole leading into more tunnels, and he was so quick to retreat that Jiro couldn't even hear his footsteps echo through the caverns.

When Roger made it out of the entrance tunnel and caught up with Jiro, he was looking at the ground near the hole and its massive crater. Scrawled in an android's leaking internal fluids, soaking into and staining the dirt, was the R-D calling card.

Cast in the name of God

Ye not guilty

~~~

Ref list:

Roger and Dorothy exchange the following lines between each other; the dialog if from an episode of M*A*S*H:

-"Why does everyone hate me before they even know me?"

-"It saves time, Roger."

There are intentional parallelisms to both canon Big O and Kikaider in this chapter, though mostly Big O; the plot is structured around the 'real' "R-D" episode. Hakaider's behavior toward Roger is the same way he behaved toward Jiro during their first meeting.

We have come to terms.


	3. Jiro the Wanderer

****

Paradigm Shift

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Alhazred – madarab20@hotmail.com

Act: 3 – Jiro the Wanderer

'"Paradigm Executive Ball,'" Roger read aloud, his eyes skimming the memorandum Angel had given him. "'Reminder: all attendees must dress formally. This event is mandatory for all executive officers. Paradigm crew workers and the civilian population are not allowed unless designated as guests by an attending employee.' Civilian population? What is this, a meeting in a bunker?"

Angel had written her address, or, at least, what Roger _assumed_ to be her address on the back. She was in for a surprise if she thought Roger wasn't going to blatantly stand her up for their 'date.'

"Perhaps you should go, Roger Smith."

Roger almost fell out of his chair, half from the surprise of Dorothy entering the living room so quietly and sneaking up on him. "Are you _kidding,_ Dorothy? Why on _Earth_ would I want to attend some silly event held for the sole purpose of making Paradigm's executives feel superior to the rest of the city, let alone go with that Succubus?"

"She may be a devil," Dorothy said, "but on rare occasions, she _has_ lived up to her namesake by being useful, even if it _is_ by manipulating you deeper into the situation."

Roger stared at Dorothy for a moment, raising one eyebrow. "That's awfully philosophical, Dorothy. I didn't know you had that in you."

"You are avoiding the fact that I am correct, Roger."

His chin resting on his hands, Roger said, "Y'know, Angel told me to bring Jiro with me. Maybe you should come as his date."

"Perhaps you should ask Jiro before you arrange his evenings for him. And besides, I doubt I would blend in well," Dorothy pointed out.

"Sheesh, you and Kikaider with your blending in," Roger rolled his eyes. "How many times do I have to say it? Blending in is _no_ way to go through life and not always the way to go about your business, either."

"Of course," agreed Dorothy. Roger almost fainted when he realized that yes, she _was_ agreeing. And then she added, "It makes sense for you to believe that, given your noxious choice of clothes."

~~~

"And this goes here?" Jiro asked, holding the massive steel rivet in his arms as if it weighed less than he did. Or rather, less than he _would_ if he were human.

Norman wiped the sweat from his face with a handkerchief, looking up from his re-wiring job to watch the android holding onto the massive hunk of metal, patiently waiting to see if he was performing the task correctly.

Dorothy was like this when she spared time to help on Big O, but as Norman could still attend to it alone anyway and move the heavy things with the machinery, she often concentrated on the housekeeping and errand running. Norman, in turn, did not have to worry about those things when Big O needed work after a fight, often giving him time to prepare dinner to his personal standards as well. "Right there, yes. I must say, Master Jiro, you are quite the handyman."

"Oh, it's no problem," Jiro said, finding himself staring up at the Big O. Something seemed familiar about it, something that stopped Jiro from feeling the transitory thrill of seeing something new and amazing. The Megadeus...just what _was_ it, anyway?

These thoughts were, in fact, so consuming, that Jiro hadn't even considered the rebirth of a dead brother all that much. He snapped out of his thoughts when Norman spoke again. "Master Jiro, if it's not too much trouble, would mind giving the cockpit and face a good wipe down? The automatic cleaners never seen to do a good job..."

Jiro complied, hopping down to the catwalk to fish out a rag or three from the bucket Norman always brought as part of his repair kit. He believed cleanliness was just as important as repairs, and this philosophy certainly seemed to give Big O some extra luster and confidence on the battlefield.

~~~

"I call it 'Hakaider.'"

"Is it really necessary?"

Roger tried to rub his eyes, but his hands didn't move. He could see the old man talking, presenting the newly finished Hakaider unit to…someone else. The other voice in the room was out of sight.

The old man continued. "I hope not, but...it just seemed right to have some sort of contingency..."

__

This is the way the world ends...

Quite suddenly, Roger found himself sitting in front of a television, watching a news report, the camera focused on what was, apparently, a massive robot. The hands of it looked very familiar...soon, the news station lost its feed when the robot blasted part of whatever city it was standing in.

Roger saw his hand reach for the remote and switch to a station still able to broadcast. What _was_ this? Something before the Event?

__

Not with a bang, but with a whimper...

Roger woke up. "Ghhneh...is it morning already?"

In point of fact, it _was_ morning. Seven o'clock in the morning. Roger wanted to get at least another four, maybe five hours of sleep, but it was worth loosing sleep at this point to get away from these crazy dreams.

Dreams...the end of the world...or the beginning of a new world? Remembering what Hakaider had said, about the Event being man made, Roger wondered if these dreams, these memories, were more than just random history.

"It's too early to get a migraine over this," Roger growled, shoving himself out of bed.

One shower and shave later, Roger was ready to start the day. At least, he was trying to delude himself into thinking so, but he wouldn't be ready to start the day until the afternoon.

As he walked out, straightening his tie, Roger almost walked right into the path of Dorothy's vacuum as she turned it on and began the process of vacuuming the carpet at insanely non-human speeds. "You should watch where you are going, Roger."

"What?" Roger yelled over the vacuum, but Dorothy did not answer. Maybe she had moved too far away to hear over the machine herself. "Maybe she's just ignoring me."

Once again contemplating Angel's odd proposition, Roger picked up her flyer from the coffee table and read it over again. "That woman is a witch."

~~~

"You can be a real witch when you want to be, my dear."

"Coming from you, I'll take that as a compliment," Angel answered.

Lacing his fingers and resting his chin on his hands, Alex Rosewater merely smiled back. "As you should. What of the Negotiator?"

"He'll be along tomorrow," Angel answered.

"Very well," Rosewater said, leaning back in his chair. "Hmm. One must wonder how he would react to knowing the truth. Have his implanted memories surfaced yet?

Angel remained silent.

"I see."

She added, "It's not a good idea to let him regain those memories, and you know it."

"Perhaps, but it's not for you to decide whether or not that _matters,_ my dear," Rosewater stood, leading her out of his office and to his private elevator. "There are always a select few who should know more than common people. Roger Smith is one of them. Let him know some of the past, let him puzzle over it. It will only confuse him and make him seek more answers."

As the elevator descended at high speeds, going beyond ground level and further below the Paradigm building, Angel said, "Don't you think provoking Roger Smith into seeking answers is a _bad_ idea?"

"Bah, what does it matter," Rosewater told her. "The world destroyed by a cataclysm, robots run amok, the power of God wielded by man...all of it is a lie, anyway."

The elevator doors opened into a place Angel had never seen before. What she saw in the massive chamber was enough to stop her dead in her tracks for a brief moment.

Alex Rosewater found her shock amusing. "Besides, Roger Smith isn't the _only_ one with a Megadeus."

And he was right, for a Megadeus occupied this underground chamber. Angel decided this wasn't really the biggest shock of all time, considering how most shady people these days seemed to have one, or knew something about them, or found one deep underground.

No, the real surprise came in the details, and the massive object at the _far_ end of the bay, but for now, Angel focused on the humanoid robot. This particular Megadeus looked a lot like Big O. In fact, it looked like Big O in the same manner that Big _Duo_ looked like Big O; this was the third of its kind, sleek and gleaming white, decorations of the sun painted on both arms. Angel couldn't figure out what the arms _did_ on this one, their function wasn't as obvious as those of its brethren.

Rosewater was rather proud of it. "I still wish the technicians could make the cockpit armor a little more secure, but then, one can't have everything. Isn't that right, my dear?"

Angel remained silent...knowing Alex Rosewater didn't believe that at all. Her eyes turned to a man approaching the two of them; he was the only one on this level, the only other people in the chamber were technicians checking over the Megadeus on walkways above.

Rosewater seemed delighted to see this man. "Ah, there you are, Saburo. I trust you failed miserably in killing the Negotiator?"

Saburo ignored his question. "The mechanics say they're done; Big Fau is ready."

"What are you going to do?" Angel suddenly asked, realizing she was _far_ more out of the loop than she knew. A Megadeus, a strange man that had tried to kill Roger…what was going on?

"Tomorrow, I'm going to remind Mr. Smith of his contract to get Michael Seebach under control, and if he refuses, well...like I said, the Negotiator isn't the only one with a Megadeus."

~~~

"That's him," Roger said.

Putting his hands on the wheel, Roger double-checked to make sure Griffon's camouflage was on. Many people, including the man he and Jiro were about to start following, knew his car was black. Some had seen it red. None had seen it green yet.

From his inconspicuous spot on the street corner, Jiro looked down the sidewalk until his eyes found the target.

"That's Beck," Roger confirmed, his watch plenty sensitive enough for Jiro to hear him through it. On that note, he shifted gears and pressed down on the gas, ever so slowly pulling out on the street a good fifty feet behind Beck. Jiro was little closer at this point.

And then Beck started running, prompting Roger to nearly floor the gas. "He saw us!"

Pulling into an ally, Roger found he could no longer proceed in a vehicle and got out of the Griffon, Jiro leaping off of whatever building he had jumped onto and landing next to him.

The ally was a dead end, but Beck was nowhere to be found.

Until both of them walked not five steps forward when a massive _poof_ went off, followed by the Griffon's car alarm.

Beck had tried to _steal_ Roger's car. Beck had gotten a cloud of mace sprayed in his face and a loud, obnoxious alarm ringing in his ears for his troubles.

Roger couldn't help but be amused as Beck stumbled around and cursed. "Oh, _good_ one, Beck. Haven't you learned not to mess with the mechanical things around me?"

Swearing up a storm, Beck rubbed furiously at his eyes, sure that Roger was approaching him. When he could see again, Roger had not moved. Roger did, however, speak again. "Out with it, Beck. What's Schwarzwald up to?"

His eternal grin returning, Beck answered, "Pfft, like I'm going to tell _you_ that."

At this, Beck reached under the back of jacket. Roger flinched when he came up with the flute Jiro had crushed under his foot, and Beck found this highly amusing. "You think I'd only keep around _one_ of these little beauties?"

He started playing, concentrating on nothing but the music, on driving Roger mad with pain and noise.

And then Roger walked up and punched Beck across the face. "I think this one's faulty, Beck."

Picking up the flute, Roger busted the cheap plastic over his knee before pulling Beck up to his feet by the lapels of his jacket.

Beck was not pleased, franticly pinching at his nose. "Aww, man! You boke my node!"

"And I'm gonna break more than that if you don't tell me where Schwarzwald is and _what_ he's doing."

"I met hib in the subway tunnels," Beck rasped out, "He said that flute would dribe you up the wall, that's all he would tell me!"

"The _subway_ tunnels," Roger dropped Beck, remembering the day before. Schwarzwald didn't wander much into the shallow tunnels, Roger knew, or he'd have met him a long time ago. No, the crazy ex-writer reveled in spelunking the old, deep ruins for memories.

The next course of action was obvious. "Hey Jiro," Roger said, "Why don't we go take a look at your past?"

~~~

Under other circumstances, Roger would have never gone back to this place. The first time, it had scared him beyond belief for no reason whatsoever. Fear was an emotion that Roger Smith was well-acquainted with, and it was an emotion he would never, _ever_ give in to.

And yet, it had taken Dorothy to snap him out of the panic attack this place had given him.

Perhaps Jiro being around was enough of a distraction to prevent growing afraid once more.

Or perhaps Roger simply knew that Jiro as a strong enough android to kick the crap out of a negotiator's worst nightmares. The idea of needing a bodyguard didn't make Roger feel any better. As a consequence, he preferred to think of Jiro as a distraction only.

Through the tunnels, down the same rusty ladder, ad back to the huge, hollowed out cavity where Schwarzwald had found the arch type. The route was simple enough. The underground chamber, with its old, weathered sign proudly displaying "World Expo – '40."

What the hell _was_ an 'expo,' anyway?

This thought was on Roger's mind, but he put it on the backburner when he looked across the ancient chambers and realized something. "It's gone."

Jiro didn't ask what 'it' was; he knew Roger had been here before and knew he would bother going into detail when needed. Roger, in fact, _would_ go into detail later, but for now, he was more concerned with finding out what else was down here.

On this thought, Roger began the trek through the pseudo-maze of walls used for whatever an 'expo' was to the far end, seemingly ignorant but very much aware of the fact that Jiro had hopped up onto the walls and was following from above to get a better view.

Near the end of the room, Roger pulled his flashlight and shined it into the wide, gaping hole where the Archetype once sat dormant. After his run-in with R-D...Hakaider...in the subway tunnels, he was careful to move the light over every square inch of ground, wall and ceiling before moving further.

Continuing through, the duo eventually came to the most anti-climactic of human devices; a very large door. It was a pair of double doors, in fact, the kind that probably slide open to allow something large to pass through, certainly something large enough to be a Megadeus. The metal framework was caked in decades-old mud and rust, but the seams were clean, opened recently and shrugging off the excess. In fact, the patterns of grime on the doors had a distinct grain to them, telling Roger that they did indeed slide open.

Fortunately, the massive doors had a smaller door built in near the base. This door _was_ completely rusted shut.

So Jiro kicked it in.

Roger switched his flashlight off, the area beyond the door completely lit by electrical lights across the ceiling. "I guess having you around is pretty handy after all, Kikaider."

Though lighted, this new chamber was just as run down as the expo hall. It was, however, recently used. Circular in shape, the room held a massive docking area more than similar to Big O's repair bay. The Archetype hung suspended from ceiling cranes and pulleys in the center, even more damaged than when Roger had blown a hole through it.

But the new 'damage' wasn't the result of the combat. Jiro noticed this as well. "It almost looks...stripped."

"Yeah," Roger nodded, "but stripped for _what?_"

This had Schwarzwald written all over it. The slightly morbid scene, arcane technology used for who-knew-what, the ominous feeling that they were in for a nasty surprise...

__

"Whoever you are, you're in for a nasty surprise."

Schwarzwald's voice had no living source; it was coming from an intercom. Roger sighed, "It figures."

__

"The Megadeus you see before you is old and long obsolete. The central systems have been destroyed, its mobility is impaired, and the Dominus is long dead."

"The what?" Roger wondered aloud. _That_ was a foreign word, most certainly; Dominus of Megadeus...the pilot, perhaps?

__

"In short, it is no longer of use to me. I don't know how you came across this place, but as I no longer need it, I have no reason not to bury you here, lest you decide to track me down and cause me trouble."

Clearly working on an automated response for whatever trap Schwarzwald had set, the Archetype, or what was left of it, began powering up. Briefly, both Roger and Jiro feared it would attack them, but suspended in midair without legs and one barely complete arm, it didn't seem like it would move.

At least, they didn't think it would, until the tell tale hum of electricity running through machinery began to reverberate in the bay and several joints on the Megadeus twitched. The arm began moving, creaking like the old metal it was.

Watching the Archetype move and grow alive, Jiro felt the same sense of familiarity Big O gave him. Only here, underground in a dank room of the past and sensing a distinct hostility in the room, curiosity over this feeling did not enter his mind. "Maybe we should leave."

Turning to take Jiro up on this suggestion, Roger said, "I'm inclined to agree."

They broke into a run as the cranes holding the Archetype moved and dropped it onto the gantry, sending a reverberation through the dock, out the doors Roger and Jiro were crossing, and into the expo hall. Sensing this, Roger kept his ears open. The _second_ time something from the docking bay clanged and banged, he realized the Archetype was most likely crawling across the floor after them.

He brought his left hand up not a second later, watch included. "Big O! It's showtime!"

No sooner had the words left his mouth than did Roger finally turn to look back. The tell-tale noise of metal rending roared through the hall, not deafening but on a scale far larger than he was comfortable hearing.

Jiro turned as well, or at least, he _tried_ to turn around, but suddenly, very suddenly, the world went black.

Or at least, even _more_ black, as the expo hall was rather dismal and dark to begin with. The absence of light soon gave way to bright yellow sun and-

~~~

Jiro bolted upright. Sun? Sky? One simply didn't _see_ these things underground. And for that matter, Jiro wondered how he had just sat up. One did not usually sit up when they were running from a really large crazy robot.

Blinking his eyes a few times, Jiro realized that this was the least of his worries. The expo hall was gone, the ancient Megadeus nowhere to be found. Roger was not in sight. In their place, Jiro saw a small meadow with unmowed grass, plenty of it lightly crushed under his legs as he sat on the ground. The rest blew gently in the breeze along with the usual outdoorsy types of things like stray leaves and those little drifting flower seeds...

Resisting the urge to become enraptured by the natural scene, of which there was nothing like in Paradigm City, Jiro stood up and dusted himself off. It didn't take a lot of dusting; his clothes, being black, did not dirty easily and any blemish not visible to the naked eye due to color was non-existent as far as Jiro was concerned.

Looking around, Jiro spotted a town, possibly a small city, not far off. The meadow seemed to be on the city limits, but this certainly wasn't Paradigm City. The buildings were modern for Jiro's original time, not the strange, amnesiac place he had woken in. And there were no domes.

One last annoyance nagged at Jiro when he tried to determine how far this area of civilization was. Being a robot, he was used to having a Heads-Up-Display projected onto his vision to tell him things like this, but unfortunately, his vision was perfectly clear and the function simply wouldn't activate.

Resigned to walk and traverse a distance he could not calculate, Jiro pulled his coat tighter and set off.

~~~

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